


Fill in the Blanks

by SullenDragon



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Amnesia, Getting Together, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 11:24:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14236242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SullenDragon/pseuds/SullenDragon
Summary: A bash to the head and a hole in his memory. Just like a bad soap opera. But bad soaps don't have Blair Sandburg, he of the flaxen hair and the words that don't mean what he's saying.





	Fill in the Blanks

**Author's Note:**

> for the bingo prompt "amnesia"

“I’m a... a what?”

“Sentinel. Fancy senses, all telescopic. Extra control.” The hippie-haired academic was glaring at the patient chart like it had insulted his haircut.

“And you are... also a... a whatever? Sentinel.” He didn’t want to play twenty questions with the man, because he was damn well ready to be checking out of the hospital, but it seemed that they had some sort of observation window and wanted him to regain his memories before he left, if possible. Might as well talk.

“No. Just an anthropologist.” The man, Blair, Blair Sandburg, was still looking at the clipboard, but he had his eyes clenched shut. “Foremost expert on sentinels. In the U.S., at least.” He opened his eyes and looked at Jim. “I’ve been writing about you, following you on cases. Trying to help you.” He waved a small, blunt hand in the direction of Jim’s everything.

“So we’re not, uh...”

“Not what? Co-workers? I guess not.” The glare was back, but with it directed at him, he couldn’t breathe.

“Involved,” he managed to gasp out, looking away from Blair to focus on the drab green wall with its chalkboard of nurse’s scrawl. His name was there, James J. Ellison—what the hell did the J stand for?—and something he assumed must be a patient identification number. Seemed like a security risk, but he was more worried about the way Blair was looking at him. It was very focused, so intent that he’d swear he could feel it like a physical press on his skin, hairline to toes, all the way down his right side.

“Guess not. Sorry.” He tossed the apology out like it meant nothing, like he hadn’t gotten the shit kicked out of him for a less subtle come-on, like the man in the creaky plastic-covered chair didn’t smell like his.

Blair opened his mouth, closed it. He took a deep breath and sighed it back out, so loud that it nearly covered up his words. “We could be.”

Jim nearly gave himself whiplash—more whiplash—turning to look at him. He opens his mouth, replicating Blair’s guppy impression, but his expression must be enough to get his _Excuse me, please explain_ across.

“I wanted to. I think you did, too, but. Military, police, buzz cut and trash beer and all the single women you could find. I was scared, and hell, maybe you were too. I thought one day we might figure it out.”

Jim held out his hand and waited for Blair to accept it. He had to put the clipboard down to do so, but that thing had gotten plenty of attention.

“Let’s give it a shot. But maybe later.” He yawned, flexed his hand around Blair’s, and closed his eyes on the image of a bright, almost-familiar smile.

*

“Hey, man. You awake there? Ken’s got some pain meds for you.” When he opened his eyes, the source of the voice is leaning over him a little, looking concerned but hopeful

“Mmf,” he said and then remembered something about brain damage the last time he’d been awake. Mmf was probably not reassuring. “I’m good. Ready to blow this joint?” Blair chuckled and leaned back. He glanced up at the tall blond nurse who seemed intent on fiddling with Jim’s IV. Ken the nurse nodded and fiddled with a little more intent. Blair returned his attention to Jim and patted his IV-free hand.

“Can’t break you out ‘til the doc comes through again, but he’s talking about letting you go outpatient. Physical stuff’s not so bad, it’s just the memories, mostly. Any luck?”

Jim grinned, because he had all the luck. He flipped his right hand over and caught Blair’s hand with it. “I remember everything, Chief.” Blair’s eyes widened, and he looked down at their hands. “Sentinels aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, you’re the best damn anthropologist to ever become a cop’s guidance counselor, and we’ve got a date to plan.”


End file.
